No Boyfriend Material
by spacedragon
Summary: Chapter 2 up ... this one from Monica's PoV
1. Chapter 1 Chandler

_I've never thought this moment would come - I've been a fan of the show for quite some time, and read a bit of fanfiction too... but never thought I'd write some myself. Anyway, when I watched the Beach-episodes again last week, this idea came into my mind and it *insisted* to be written down.   
It might not be very original or new, but I assure you, I had the idea all by myself. I'm aware that there's another story out here with the same title, but I couldn't think of a better title, and it just comes naturally with the episode.   
So - enough of that, it's C&M, with not a lot of the others in it. Hope you like it anyway. _

_Disclaimer: I don't own any of the characters, this story is only written for entertainment purposes, no copyright infringement is intended.   
_

**_No Boyfriend Material _**

**_Chapter 1_**

****

****

"...I'll be your boyfriend."   
There, I said it. I offered Monica to be her boyfriend, and doing that I revealed my most secret desire, to her and to myself. I tried to hide my anxiety, but couldn't stop staring at her while waiting for her answer.   
Yet, this answer was not exactly what I'd been hoping for.   
She laughed.   
"Why, why's that funny?" I asked, trying not to show my disappointment.   
"Well, you're Chandler," she answered. "You're *Chandler*," she repeated, playfully punching my arm.   
I didn't get it. Though I understood that she hadn't taken my offer seriously. But had I?   
Yes.   
Definitely.   
Even though a minute before, if someone had asked me, I wouldn't have thought so myself.   
Yes, I wanted to be Monica's boyfriend.   
But obviously she didn't want me, didn't consider me "boyfriend material". She made that utterly clear. 

We were sitting outside of Central Perk, waiting for Phoebe to come by with her cab and pick us up. We would all spend the weekend in Montauk, at the beach, and it was supposed to be a fun weekend away from the big city.   
While I was still sitting there, thinking about how to convince Monica that I in fact was boyfriend material, my thoughts were racing in my head, and at the same time I tried to hide all that from her. Hiding my thoughts from the others wasn't a problem; their complete focus lay on Ross and Rachel. They would probably not even notice if I'd ask Monica there and then if she wanted to marry me.   
Oops, what was that? I, Chandler Bing, thought the "m"-word without freaking out? Something was terribly wrong here…   
  
I was sitting next to Monica in the cab, and it seemed that she had totally forgotten what had happened. She was her usual self, chatting, laughing, even leaning close to me, but being totally oblivious of the fact that I wasn't by any means behaving normal. She didn't notice that I wasn't making jokes, that I wasn't answering her questions, or that if I answered, I didn't say more than "yes" or "no".   
I couldn't stop thinking about her reaction to my words, her harsh rejection. I was hurt, more than I wanted to admit.   
Unlike usually when she leaned against me I didn't put my arm around her shoulders, I was too irritated.   
OK, so she didn't want me as a boyfriend. But did she have to be so explicit about it? 

During the weekend I tried to suppress my hurt, tried to joke about the boyfriend issue, to get at least a somewhat promising answer from Monica; but the results were – disappointing.   
I was tried to be nice and sweet, to flirt with her during the strip-Happy-Days-game, made another joking approach to ask her to be my girlfriend, but she still rejected me.   
And then, in the end, I even peed on her. Right, I had helped her, because she had been in pain, but it surely didn't bring me any closer to her in the romance department.   
When we were back home, we had one last talk about it, and that's what she said: I'll always be the guy who peed on her. Wasn't that just perfect? 

I had never been good at handling rejection, because it confirmed my innermost fears that I wasn't likable or lovable. But I was good at hiding my feelings from others and from myself. Well, I had been good at it. So much I discovered after the trip to the beach.   
I had always had a soft spot for Monica, she was my best friend, and she was definitely the most beautiful woman I had ever met, but at the same time I had always been afraid. Afraid of commitment. Everyone knew that. Now… now my fears didn't seem important anymore, seemed totally irrelevant. All I could think about was Monica.   
And that she didn't want me. 

I changed. Not quickly, not visibly at first. But I changed. I stopped being the funny-man I had always been, and when I made sarcastic comments, those comments weren't funny anymore, only mean and desperate.   
I tried, unsuccessfully, to avoid Monica. Of course I was not successful. I couldn't avoid her. Even though I knew she would never want me, that all she was willing to give me was friendship, I still had to be near her. I was drawn to her like a moth to a flame.   
Sometimes when she was busy in the kitchen, I would just sit on the couch and watch her, and then feel sad and heartbroken immediately, knowing I couldn't be with her. 

Nobody seemed to notice how I felt; as usual everything was about Ross and Rachel's on-and-off love story, and their constant fighting. But that was ok with me, I didn't want to draw anyone's attention, and most likely become the joke of the day. I was sure that was exactly what would happen if the others found out about my feelings. And still – part of me was hurt that nobody noticed, and this part of me told me that I shouldn't expect anything else. Why would anyone ever notice when I was not ok? They never did. Nobody ever had.   
While in my head I knew that this was total nonsense, this voice whispering in my head constantly reminded me that nobody cared anyway; that I was nothing but "their annoying friend Chandler". Which was most likely untrue – but I'm sure you all know those creepy voices. 

That night I hadn't slept a lot, I woke up from a nightmare, fell asleep again, and the nightmare continued, woke up again and couldn't get back to sleep for a while. And when I finally fell asleep again, I dreamt of Monica. I woke up in tears.   
What was happening to me?   
Why could I suddenly not suppress my feelings anymore?   
Slowly I got up, stumbled into the bathroom, glad that Joey was nowhere to be seen. I figured he was either still with his date from last night or already at Monica and Rachel's having breakfast.   
I looked into the bathroom mirror, and that didn't exactly lift my spirits. I looked almost as bad as I felt. My eyes were red and swollen from crying, and I looked just as tired and worn out as I was. I stepped into the shower, tried to wash away the traces of the night.   
Afterwards I dried myself off, brushed my teeth and got dressed. I didn't bother shaving; it was Saturday anyway, and I didn't have any plans to go out. I wanted to stay home and feel miserable.   
Yet I was hungry, and as usual there was no food in our apartment, so I went across the hall, expecting to see everybody there.   
But there was nobody but Monica.   
Oh no, that was exactly what I did not need today.   
Yes please, God, make my misery complete!   
"Morning," I mumbled.   
"Hi sweetie," she answered, then she looked up from her newspaper, and her eyes widened. "Chandler, what's wrong with you?"   
I shrugged, went to the kitchen counter and poured myself a cup of coffee.   
When I turned around she was standing directly behind me. I flinched.   
She slowly took the mug out of my hands and placed it on the counter.   
"Hangover?" she asked compassionately.   
I shrugged again.   
She shook her head. "No, you don't look like that," she decided after studying my face, and was obviously worried. "If I think about it, you haven't been yourself lately. Honey, what's wrong?" she asked, her voice full of sympathy, a friend's sympathy.   
"Nothing," I mumbled, trying to get away. She didn't let me. Instead she pulled me into an embrace, pulled my head on her shoulder and caressed my hair. Hmm, this felt so good. *She* felt so good.   
I didn't know what to do with my hands, should I embrace her too – that was definitely what I wanted most – or should I not? I tentatively moved my hands upwards, then reluctantly decided against it, dropped them again.   
"Chandler, honey, what's going on?" she asked again.   
And for a second there was new hope, but just for a second. She was just being my friend, my best friend actually. Nothing more than that.   
I still didn't answer, and she slowly broke the embrace. She softly took my hand in hers, took my mug and led me to the couch. We both sat down, and she still stared at me. Softly she caressed my cheek, looked into my eyes, searching for an answer.   
"So?"   
I shrugged, didn't know what to say or do.   
"Chandler, you look terrible, and you're wearing your sweats. Something is bothering you."   
"I… I…" I stuttered, "I can't tell."   
"Honey, it's me, you can tell me everything!" she said.   
How wrong she was – she was the last person I could tell. "No, Mon, I can't. Believe me."   
She nodded, accepting. "Fine, but if you ever change your mind, you know where I am, ok? Promise me to take care."   
"Yeah, ok." I managed a weak smile. "Thanks, Mon."   
"Well, I couldn't do anything, so you don't have to thank me," she answered while standing up from the couch. Then, before heading back to the kitchen, she quickly kissed my forehead.   
I remained on the couch, fighting off the effect her "friendly" kiss had on me. "You've done more than enough," I mumbled to myself.   
"What?"   
"Nothing, Mon." 

I breathed slowly, calmed down and pushed down my feelings. Then I stood up and went over to the kitchen to have breakfast. Monica didn't pick up our conversation again, but she was still watching me. And even though she was the root of my misery, it still felt good that she cared.   
I gave her a smile. 

One by one the others showed up, first Ross, then Phoebe, then Rachel; and it became a normal Saturday morning, with the usual quarrels between Ross and Rachel.   
At last Joey entered, whistling. So his date had been a success. But then again, what else is new?   
When he looked at me, Joey stopped whistling.   
"Man, what happened to you? You look like hell!" he asked. "Hangover?"   
What was it with me that everyone thought I had a hangover? Did I drink that much? I rolled my eyes.   
"Yeah, whatever," I mumbled.   
Joey nodded sympathetically. "You know, after a good breakfast you'll surely feel better."   
I just nodded and concentrated on my breakfast again. 

Yet I was eating so slowly that I was the last one to remain in Monica's apartment. Long after the others had already left, I was still sitting at the table, drinking coffee and finishing my pancakes.   
When Monica had finished the others' dishes, she sat down next to me, caressed my hair.   
I looked up at her, greedily taking in every bit of affection she was willing to give, smiling at her.   
"Better now, Chandler?"   
"Yeah, a bit."   
She was actually worried about me!   
"Remember, if you want to talk, I'm right here."   
I nodded, "yeah, I … thanks." With that I had finished my breakfast and stood up. "I guess I'll leave now, Mon. See you."   
"Bye, Chandler." 

Back in my apartment I fell into the recliner, switched on the TV, and decided that this was exactly what I would be doing for the rest of the weekend – sit here, watch TV, and nothing else. Well not exactly – I would also contemplate my misery and think about Monica. 

After a while Joey came out of his room, on his way to the bathroom, but when he noticed me, he stopped dead.   
"Man, what's going on with you?" he asked. "Haven't seen you in that condition since… since… " He looked as if he were thinking hard and suddenly his face brightened when he had an idea. "I haven't seen you like that since after you and Janice broke up!" He stared at me, and you could literally see his brain working. "Did you have a secret girlfriend that broke up with you?"   
I looked down. Joey was close, but I would surely not tell him what was bothering me. Not Joey, who could get every girl he wanted.   
"You're lovesick," Joey blurted out now. "So, who is it? And why have I never met her? And what did you do to make her break up with you? Or is it a he?"   
"Joey, NOBODY broke up with me, and surely not a MAN. How often do I have to tell you that I'm not gay?"   
"OK, ok," he held up his hands in defence. "If you say so. So, what's your problem anyway?"   
"Nothing, Joe, I just don't feel too great."   
He shrugged. "Well, if you say so." With that he finally went over to the bathroom, and seconds later I heard the shower. 

As planned I stayed in my recliner all day long, stared at the TV-screen, and thought about Monica.   
  


Neither Joey nor anyone else disturbed me during the day, everyone was busy as usual – or, and that was what I was secretly sure of, they were annoyed and didn't care. 

Later in the afternoon there was a knock on the door.   
"Come in," I said automatically but didn't turn the recliner.   
I heard the door open and then footsteps.   
"Chandler, do you…" I heard Monica's voice and slowly turned the recliner to face her.   
She left her sentence unfinished and stared at me. That was when I noticed that my face felt wet, wet from tears. And it was too late to hide it from her. How embarrassing was that?   
Quickly she was at my side, and sat down on the armrest of my recliner.   
"Oh sweetie," she whispered and pulled me close. "Joey was right, you look exactly like when you and Janice broke up. Are you sure you don't want to talk?"   
I closed my eyes, nodded. "Yeah, positive."   
"So, what else can I do for you?" she asked. "Want to come over for dinner tonight?"   
"Listen, Mon," I answered. "I don't want to ruin the evening for all of you. And I don't really want to face everyone tonight. Not like that."   
"The others won't be there, Chandler," Monica assured me. "There will be just you and me. Just a relaxing evening. And I promise I'll cook your favourite meal."   
Not exactly my idea of a relaxing evening, but I couldn't resist. How could I not accept her invitation? I smiled at her.   
"You're probably right, Mon. Thanks."   
"Great," she said and smiled at me. "Be there at seven, ok?" With that she kissed my forehead and left. 

I had to admit, it felt good that she cared, that she wanted to cheer me up, but at the same time it also made my heartache worse.   
  


Come on, Chandler! Pull yourself together! Go back to suppressing your feelings and make the best of her friendship! Because that's all you'll ever get.   
I shook my head, finally got up from the recliner and switched off the TV. I still had two hours until seven, so I enough time to get a few things done.   
I went into my bedroom, searched for something to wear tonight, threw it on the bed, and then went to the bathroom. I needed another shower, and I needed to shave.   
Within an hour I was dressed, I had chosen a suit and tie, determined to look nice for her, even though she probably wouldn't notice.   
Now I grabbed my wallet and my keys and hurried outside. 

At seven o'clock sharp I knocked on her door, with flowers in my hand. Against my instincts – I so wanted to buy her red roses – I had chosen a small colourful bouquet, and nervously peeled off the paper while I was waiting for her to open the door.   
"Chandler, why didn't you just come in?" Monica said as she opened the door, then stared at the flowers. "Are those for me?"   
"Yes, yes…" I stuttered. "Because… you… you are … you. Well, I just want to say thank you for being there."   
She smiled as she took the flowers. "I always will be, you know that. Now come in."   
Reluctantly I followed her inside, leaned against the counter and watched her putting the flowers into a vase.   
She was so beautiful.   
As if she had felt my glance on her, she suddenly looked up, right into my eyes, and smiled.   
"You look very handsome tonight," she said. "I take it you're better?"   
"Yes, Mon," I lied and forced myself to look away. If I looked into those blue eyes for one more second, I wouldn't guarantee for anything. I could almost make myself believe that there was more than friendship in the way she looked at me. But again – whom was I kidding?   
"You look beautiful, Mon," I whispered.   
She shrugged it off. "Don't lie to me, Chandler, I'm not a bit dressed up."   
She was dressed in blue jeans and a sweater, true, but to me she couldn't have looked more beautiful in the world's most precious gown.   
Not finding the right words I turned away and sat down at the table.   
While Monica put the flowers on the table in the living room, returned to the kitchen, was busy at the oven, I couldn't take my eyes off her. 

Finally she was done and came to the kitchen table with dinner in her hands. Mac and cheese with cut up hot dogs – my favourite. Just like she had promised. I gave her my best smile, for another split second I could imagine being her boyfriend.   
Answering my smile Monica put some food on my plate, then on hers.   
"Would you please open the wine?" she asked.   
I quickly nodded, opened the bottle and filled our glasses. Maybe for just this evening I could keep up my daydream and pretend this was an actual date. 

During dinner we didn't talk much, just the usual superficial things, and I relaxed a bit. Even though nothing happened, just being with her felt too good to be miserable. I was sure that I soon would be able to come back to my normal self. I would suppress those feelings I had for her and gladly accept all she was willing to give – her friendship.   
  


But as you know, things don't always go as planned. Actually with me things hardly ever go as planned. 

After dinner we sat down on the couch and Monica leaned against me, just like she had done a thousand times before. I sighed involuntarily.   
She looked up, the look on her face became serious. "Still not ok, sweetie?" she asked softly.   
"I'll survive."   
"I really think you should tell me, Chandler," she insisted. "I mean you're always there to comfort me and to listen to me whenever I'm depressed. You should give me a chance to do the same for you." Her hand now lay on my stomach, which instantly started making flip-flops and I felt nauseous.   
"Believe me, Mon, you've already done enough." That didn't come out as planned!   
Monica backed off a bit, looked at me with surprise. "What?"   
And that was when, despite all my best intentions, something in my mind snapped. I withdrew from her, jumped up, and ran through the apartment.   
"I said you already did enough."   
I turned around. She was still sitting on the couch, staring at me in disbelief.   
"Mon, I'm miserable because of you. You are my problem. I'm in love with you, Mon, and you… you …" I looked down, embarrassed by my outbreak and yelling.   
"And you don't want me." I finished quietly. Then I turned to the door, wanted to leave.   
But I had not thought about how quick Monica was. Before I even reached the door, her hand was on my shoulder and she forced me to look at her. Anger turned her eyes dark.   
"What did you say?" Her voice was dangerously calm.   
"I said you don't want me."   
Her reaction was nothing like I would have expected, nothing at all.   
"Don't you dare!" she suddenly yelled at me. "Don't you dare tell me that I'm responsible for your misery! I've been trying to help you for the last few weeks; I've been trying to find out what was wrong. And now I'm responsible for it? Forget it, Chandler Bing, I don't accept that. Go, leave now!" 

I did exactly that, I ran out of her apartment, into my apartment, and into my bedroom. I slammed the doors shut, threw myself on my bed and wished I had never been born. Now I had even destroyed our friendship, she was mad at me. I was such an idiot. Again tears were falling down my face, and I didn't do anything to stop them.   
I did it – I lost the friendship of the person that meant most to me. Why couldn't I keep my big mouth shut?   
I buried my face in the pillow and let the tears flow. 

I didn't hear that she opened the door, I didn't hear her footsteps, and I didn't notice that she sat down on my bed.   
When her hand softly caressed my hair, I rolled on my side, away from her. I couldn't face her.   
"Chandler," she whispered. "I'm sorry."   
"Yeah, sorry, whatever."   
"Chandler, listen to me," her hand continued to caress my hair. "Chandler, honey, I had no idea. "   
I couldn't answer, I was still crying too hard.   
"Chandler, I'm sorry I yelled at you. I shouldn't have done that."   
"Well, that doesn't help," I answered, sobbing. God, I was so pathetic!   
"What do you expect me to do, Chandler?" she remained calm, her hand remained on my head. "I mean what you just told me – I had no idea. I have never imagined you could feel this way. You must at least give me some time."   
I didn't answer, I was too busy crying and being pathetic.   
I felt her mouth on the side of my head, and then she softly kissed my temple.   
"Please give me some time, ok, Chandler? You're my best friend and I couldn't stand losing you."   
She stood up, and I heard her leave my room. I didn't look. Didn't want to see the look on her face, the look that told me I didn't stand a chance. 

I must have fallen asleep eventually, because at some point I woke up, feeling totally disoriented. Within seconds everything came back, and I made it from disoriented to desperate in no time. It was dark, and everything was quiet. A look at my alarm clock told me it was 4 am. The darkest hour of the night.   
I sat up and noticed that I had a terrible headache. I had to get out of here.   
I stood up, not caring that I still wore my suit, now crumpled, grabbed my keys and left the apartment.   
  


I didn't know where I went, I just kept walking through Manhattan. Didn't realize that the sun came up, didn't realize that people were staring at me. All my thoughts concentrated on Monica. I had lost her, I had lost the tiniest chance to ever have a relationship with her, even a friendship. And I made a fool of myself, a pathetic fool. 

At some point during the day I sat down in Central Park, leaned against a tree, watched people passing by. Every couple I saw made me cringe in pain. I had never wanted a relationship; and now, now that I wanted nothing more it was never going to happen. The story of Chandler Bing's pathetic life! 

When I left my place under the tree in Central Park, it was nighttime again. I didn't return to the apartment directly, didn't want to see anyone, so I walked through the streets until I thought it would be safe to return, to not meet Monica.   
I made it to my bedroom without any disturbance; Joey was out again, and the door to Monica's apartment didn't open as I sneaked into my apartment. At least something! 

Over the next week I managed to avoid Monica, and most of the time the others as well. On Monday morning I left for work early, and wrote a note for Joey saying that I had lots of work and would be home late.   
  


All week long I went to work early and returned late, too late for dinner at Monica's place, too late for hanging out with the others. And I deliberately avoided Central Perk too. Each morning I bought a coffee at the Starbuck's down the street, and each evening I ate something at some junk food place. Not healthy, and my stomach surely did not like this treatment, but I couldn't care less.   
  


I even went to work on Saturday, despite the fact that I didn't actually have work to do. But I could always sit in my office, surf the web, and – most of the time – stare out of the window. 

Yet on Sunday my plan didn't work. I overslept the alarm clock, so I couldn't leave before everyone else was up. When I woke up, I heard Joey talking in the living room.   
Crap! I had to use the bathroom, and I couldn't wait much longer.   
Reluctantly I got up, threw my bathrobe over my pyjamas and opened the door.   
Oh no, Joey was talking to Monica, of all people!   
"Morning," I mumbled, and quickly went to the bathroom.   
I locked the door and sat down on the toilet seat.   
What now?   
Should I stay in here until they were gone?   
How long would they be here?   
How long would Monica be in our living room?   
Anyway – in order to kill time, I took a shower, shaved, brushed my teeth, but when all that was done, there was no excuse to stay in the bathroom. It would make me look even more pathetic.   
So I returned to the living room, planning to go directly to my room.   
Relieved I noticed that Joey was gone. But my relief vanished quickly when I saw Monica sitting on the recliner.   
"Chandler!"   
"Hm?"   
"Chandler, can we please talk?" she asked – no, she begged.   
I swallowed hard. This was what I had been avoiding for a week. I nodded.   
"OK, but let me get dressed first, ok?"   
"Sure," she answered. "But don't think I'll leave if you take too long. If I lose my patience, I might just come in."   
"OK." With weak knees I turned around and went inside my bedroom.   
I dressed quickly, in a t-shirt and sweat pants, afraid that she might actually come inside and find me undressed. But then I sat down on my bed, buried my head in my hands. That was it – now she would tell me that it was over, that our friendship was officially over.   
No need to extend my misery.   
I stood up to go and face her. 

I entered the living room and sat down in the second recliner, her eyes following my every move. She didn't look healthy, I noticed. Actually she looked just as bad as I did. And it was probably completely my fault.   
I looked at her, expectantly. No way I would start this conversation.   
She leaned closer, put her hands on my legs.   
"Chandler, I'm so sorry for all the pain I caused you," she whispered. Her lower lip was trembling.   
Now, now she would tell me that she never wanted to see me again.   
"Chandler, it's just… I never thought that you wanted us to be more than friends. And… and when you said that you'd be my boyfriend, I thought you were joking. Because I had never thought this would be an option. You know I had a crush on you, back when we first met. And those feelings... they never completely left."   
I stared at her, had no idea what she wanted to tell me. But so far she hadn't told me to go to hell, at least!   
"Chandler, please be honest now, ok?"   
I nodded.   
"Chandler, when you said that you're in love with me, was that the truth?"   
I nodded again.   
A single tear rolled down her cheek. And through my own misery I felt so sorry for her, wanted to take her in my arms, comfort her and take away her pain.   
She swallowed audibly. "Chandler, I … I told you that I needed some time… but I didn't say that because I was looking for a way to reject you. Only because this was so huge, and so unbelievable."   
What did she want to tell me?   
"Man, you surely don't make it easier for me," she rolled her eyes.   
She slid off the recliner and kneeled down in front of me. Her hands pulled me down, made me kneel down too. And slowly she wrapped her arms around me, pulled me closer and softly kissed my lips. I was too stunned to react in any way, just let it happen.  
After a few seconds she pulled back, looked at me.   
"Chandler, will you please say something or do something! Anything! I… I'm trying to tell you that I want to try – us. When I said you weren't boyfriend material, I didn't say so because I thought you weren't good enough. I would never think you're not good enough. The only reason I couldn't imagine you to be my boyfriend is that I thought you wouldn't want it. You've always been afraid of a serious relationship. And… and I've been thinking a lot last week, about you – about us. And… I want us to try. Because … because I'm in love with you too."   
I still stared at her, my mind racing. I heard her words, but I didn't completely realize what she said. She lifted her hand, softly brushed away a tear that was rolling down my cheek, then she smiled at me.  
"So?"

I swallowed hard. "Yes," was all I managed to say, followed by a weak smile.

Her smile widened, and she wrapped her arms around me, kissed me again. This time I did react. I took her in my arms, pulled her close, answered her kiss. Part of me was still convinced that I was dreaming, but if this was a dream, I never wanted to wake up.

After a while we broke our kiss, leaned against each other.

"Mon," I whispered.

"Yes?"

"You know… I'm still afraid."

"I know."

"But… but now I'm more afraid to spend my life without you."

"You don't have to, Chandler." 

  



	2. Monica

_Thanks a lot for your nice review;, I'm glad you like the story. _

_Just a little bit before I start with part 2: I'm not a totally new writer - actually I have been writing for most of my life, this is just my first Friends-fanfiction. Most of my older stuff are original stories, back when I started writing there was no such thing as internet, and I had no idea that something like fanfiction exists._

_As to the review that my Chandler cries a lot - I know, and I know that there is this episode in season 6 where it's said that Chandler doesn't cry. However, I've always considered Chandler a very emotional guy, and in my "Friends-universe" he does cry…so it just kind of happened. _

_Anyway, now to part 2 - not exactly a continuation, but the same story from Monica's point of view. So, basically the same dialogues, no surprises, but I hope it's still interesting._

_Disclaimer: I don't own any of the characters, don't make any money with it - and no copyright infringement is intended_

**_No Boyfriend Material _**

**_Chapter 2_**

**_* Monica *_**

****

"...I'll be your boyfriend." 

I laughed out loud. Chandler had offered me to be my boyfriend? I must have looked really desperate! 

"Why, why's that funny?" he asked, pretending to be hurt. 

"Well, you're Chandler," I answered. "You're Chandler," I repeated and playfully punched his arm. 

Of all people *Chandler* offered me to be my boyfriend. My commitment-phobic best friend Chandler. Yeah, right. Very funny. 

Good thing he had no idea that I used to have a crush on him. If he knew that he would probably stay on that subject all day long.

At that moment Phoebe arrived with the cab, all of us stored our luggage in the huge trunk, and everything was back to normal. We sat down in the rear of the car, talked and joked all the way to the beach. After all, we had planned a relaxing and funny weekend away from Manhattan in this beach house. I leaned against Chandler while we drove, just like I always did. Funny though – he still pretended to be hurt by what I had said earlier. But I didn't want to hang on to that discussion, so I just ignored it. 

During the whole weekend Chandler continued to joke about the boyfriend-issue. When we played the strip-Happy-Days-game, he was definitely flirting with me, and I have to admit, I liked it. Even though I knew he wasn't serious it was fun to flirt with someone, especially with someone I liked a lot.

But over the time he became annoying - he talked about it again and again, tried to persuade me that he *was* boyfriend material, and I was close to just telling him "yes, I would date you", just to make him stop asking again and again.

I have to admit, in a way I liked his perseverance, it made me feel really good, wanted. Sure, he wasn't serious, but still it felt nice that a sweet guy like Chandler tried so hard to hear just a simple "yes". 

And by the end of the weekend he proved to be a true friend, when I got stung by that jellyfish. Actually a very embarrassing situation for both of us, nevertheless I was glad he did help me out. And it felt better knowing it was him, and not some random guy – or my brother. Imagine that!

But back at home, when he again brought up the boyfriend subject, I simply couldn't resist. So, in order to shut him up once and forever, I told him that I loved him, but that he'll always be the guy who peed on me. 

And, believe it or not, that was the last time he mentioned the boyfriend-issue. And we could go back to normal, to being friends.

What dominated our hanging out over the next few weeks was Ross and Rachel's constant quarrelling. After their brief reunion in the beach house things got worse, and for a while they could hardly stay in one room together. 

That is probably why in the beginning I didn't notice what happened to Chandler. He didn't hang out at my place as often as before, and he was more quiet… and he wasn't joking as much as he used to. But I didn't pay much attention; perhaps he was just in a bad mood, or had a lot of work, or some other problem. Come time he'd surely tell me. 

And sometimes he even irritated me – sometimes when I caught him staring at me, or through me. What was he thinking about? His mind seemed to be far away, and his thoughts clearly weren't happy ones. 

But that one day I couldn't ignore it anymore. As usual Chandler came over for breakfast, and I didn't even look at him when he entered. I greeted him automatically, at his mumbled "Morning" I slowly looked up – and was shocked. My friend looked horrible. As if he hadn't slept all night. His hair was a mess, he was unshaven, he was wearing sweats, and his eyes – they were the worst. 

His eyes had a slightly tormented look, and they showed that he must have had a very bad night. 

He headed for the kitchen counter and poured himself a cup of coffee. I stood up immediately, went closer. Whatever it was that troubled him, I couldn't just sit there and watch. 

He flinched when he turned around and saw me. So – he was also jumpy. Not a good sign. 

I took his mug out of his hands, and asked: "Hangover?" But the moment I said that I knew that this wasn't his problem. "No, you don't look like that. If I think about it, you haven't been yourself lately. Honey, what's wrong?"

He shrugged. "Nothing." 

Sure, nothing… He wanted to go away, but I pulled him into an embrace. 

I had always felt protective about him; every time he had been hurt, by Janice or his mother or anyone else, I just wanted to take him in my arms and tell him that he didn't deserve such treatment, that he was the sweetest and kindest person ever, and that I knew that one day he would be truly happy. 

And this time it was not different. Even though I didn't know what was bothering him, I wanted to be there for him. 

Chandler just let it happen, he leaned into my hug, allowed me to pull his head down, to caress his hair. But he didn't hug me back, another indication that he wasn't himself.

"Chandler, honey, what's going on?" I asked again. He didn't answer, so I pulled back, took his hands in mine and lead him to the couch. I wanted to help him, to make him realize that he could trust me. 

We sat down, and I automatically caressed his cheek. Seeing him that miserable made me want to cry for him. 

"So?"

He didn't answer.

"Chandler, you look terrible, and you're wearing your sweats. Something is bothering you," I insisted.

"I… I…" he stuttered, "I can't tell." 

"Honey, it's me, you can tell me anything!" Now I was even more worried. Why could he not tell me? 

"No, Mon, I can't. Believe me." 

OK, if he didn't want my help, if he didn't think he could trust me, I had to accept it. "Fine, but if you ever change your mind, you know where I am, ok?" I said. "Promise me to take care." 

"Yeah, ok." He smiled, just a tiny bit. "Thanks, Mon." 

"Well, I couldn't do anything, so you don't have to thank me." I stood up from the couch and quickly placed a kiss on his forehead. 

He mumbled something I didn't quite get. "What?"

"Nothing, Mon." 

He followed me to the kitchen area and finally had breakfast. I wanted to know what was going on, but one by one the others came, and since I didn't want to embarrass him, I dropped the topic. No need to make it more painful for him than it already was. 

Joey surprised me this morning. He was the last one to enter my apartment, and he was the only one who noticed that Chandler wasn't at his best. But he didn't get a proper answer either. Not that he tried very hard, he was talking about his date, but he was enough of a friend to at least ask and to show that he cared. 

When the others had left, Chandler was still sitting at the kitchen table, picking his fork into the pancakes without much enthusiasm. I watched him for a while, then sat down next to him again and ran my hand through his hair. "Better now, Chandler?"

"Yeah, a bit." 

"Remember, if you want to talk, I'm right here." I reminded him, but he just nodded absentmindedly. 

"Yeah, I … thanks." He put his fork down and stood up. "I guess I'll leave now, Mon. See you." 

"Bye, Chandler." 

And I was alone in my apartment again. Quickly I finished the dishes, did the usual cleaning in the apartment, and while I was performing those tasks almost automatically, I kept thinking about Chandler. It was unusual that nobody seemed to know what was bothering him. Was it so embarrassing that he didn't want to tell anyone? But then again – Chandler always told embarrassing stories about himself, so it must have been something more serious. Or perhaps I was simply overreacting, and he just had had a bad night. That was what I hoped it would be. 

When the door opened I secretly hoped it would be Chandler – so I hurried out of my bedroom. But it was Joey.

"Do you have some more juice?" he asked, while already opening the fridge. 

"Why do you even ask?" I wanted to know. "Go ahead, take whatever you need."

"Great, thanks."

I decided to ask Joey about Chandler. 

"Joe, wait," I said when he turned to leave again.

"Sure, Mon. What's the problem?"

I hesitated for a second. "Joe, did you notice something strange about Chandler?" I blurted out.

He looked at me, with that typical blank expression on his face. Joe was thinking.

Then he slowly nodded. "Now that you ask, yes. He's wearing sweats and… "

"That's what I'm talking about," I answered quickly and a bit too excited. "He's been kind of down today, and he won't tell me what's going on."

Slowly Joey sat down, still nodding. "I asked him, and he didn't want to tell me either."

"What did you ask?"

"Well, I thought he looked just like when Janice dumped him, and I asked him if he had a girlfriend – or a boyfriend –who dumped him." 

"What?"

"I asked him if he has been dumped again." Joey-like impatience.

"You asked him if a guy dumped him?" No wonder he didn't get a proper reply. I tried hard to suppress a grin. Poor Chandler. 

Joey just shrugged, made one of his "you know what I mean" gestures.

"So, what do you think?" I asked him again. 

"I think he's got some kind of love-trouble." 

"Strange though that he didn't mention anything."

"That's why I thought it might have been a guy!" Joey exclaimed.

"Joe, stop it," I rolled my eyes. "Chandler is not gay."

"What makes you so sure?"

I didn't intend to take this any further, so I came back to the original topic. "What did he tell you, Joe?"

"Nothing," was the answer. "When I asked what was wrong, he said 'nothing'. Seems he doesn't want to talk about it. That's it."

"And it doesn't worry you at all?"

"No." A typical Joey-answer. 

"OK, forget it," I gave in. "Take your juice and go."

As soon as he was gone, I went back to thinking. Joey was right, Chandler did look as if he had some romantic problem, wearing sweats and not talking was something Chandler might do in such a situation. But what could I do about it, given that he did not want to talk?

I decided to talk about it with the others, but I had no success at all. 

Ross didn't want to talk or hear about anything but "bitchy Rachel", Joey was out on yet another date, Phoebe was trying to convince Rachel that she and Ross should so be together again, which led to another heated discussion, during which they left the apartment again and decided to go out. 

And that left me alone with no plans for the evening. Fine. I kind of enjoyed the quietness. 

I should go and check Chandler again. Perhaps he would want to spend the evening over at my place.

I knocked at his door, something I did not normally do.

"Come in." I heard Chandler's voice and opened the door. I didn't see him immediately, so I raised my voice a bit and started to say something. In that moment the recliner turned around and I saw Chandler. 

What had happened to him? He looked much worse than in the morning. And there were tears in his eyes. Something was terribly wrong here. I had never seen Chandler cry. 

And he was clearly embarrassed that I saw it. I quickly went closer to him, not thinking about anything else. I sat down next to him on the armrest and hugged him. 

For a few moments I just held him, just wanted to comfort him. 

"Oh sweetie," I finally said. "Joey was right, you look exactly like when you and Janice broke up. Are you sure you don't want to talk?" 

"Yeah, positive." 

"So, what else can I do for you?" I asked. Then thought about something. "Want to come over for dinner tonight?" 

"Listen, Mon," he answered. "I don't want to ruin the evening for all of you. And I don't really want to face everyone tonight. Not like that." 

"The others won't be there, Chandler, there will be just you and me. Just a relaxing evening. And I promise I'll cook your favourite meal." 

He seemed so embarrassed and so hurt, and even though I had no idea what his problems were, I just had to help him. And I would make sure none of the others would disturb us. I was determined to make him talk tonight. Someone had to help him, and obviously if I didn't try, nobody would. And he would not ask anyone for help. 

I had to fight the urge to hold him, to treat him, comfort him like a crying child, because I knew that would probably embarrass him even more. 

Finally he smiled weakly. Good to have at least some kind of positive reaction. 

"You're probably right, Mon. Thanks," he said.

"Great, be there at seven, ok?" 

I decided I should leave, not get on his nerves or put more pressure on him, so I kissed his forehead as a good-bye and went back to my apartment.

So, what did I have to do? I had to prepare dinner, and I had promised Chandler to cook his favourite meal. That was easy, his favourite was Mac and Cheese with cut up hot dogs. No need to think twice about that! I checked my supplies, and found everything I needed, including a good wine. I had no intention to make him drunk or get drunk myself, but a glass of wine might lighten up his spirits. 

I started with the dinner preparations, cleaned the table, tried to give the apartment a nice look, without making it too obvious. Candles and flowers would surely not be appropriate for a dinner with a friend, but I chose my best tablecloth and the best dishes nevertheless. 

And I decided against dressing up. Probably Chandler would stay in his sweats and me dressed up would be just as inappropriate as candles or flowers would be. But nevertheless I took a quick shower and dressed in my good pair of black jeans and my favourite sweater. 

Dinner was ready on time, as usual. I always planned way ahead, I would never be comfortable when I had guests and dinner was not ready when they arrived. Things just had to be perfect. Even if it was a good old friend like Chandler. Five minutes to seven everything was ready, and I started pacing through the apartment, somehow a bit nervous. I hoped the evening would be ok, I hoped we would have fun, and Chandler would open up a bit. I missed the "old" Chandler, and wanted him back.

Why wasn't he here yet? Had he perhaps decided not to come at all? He should be here already!

When I heard the knock on the door, I almost jumped. Who was that? Chandler never knocked, so it had to be someone else.

I opened the door, and there was Chandler. With a bouquet of flowers in his hands, a very beautiful bouquet of flowers. 

"Chandler, why didn't you just come in?" I asked, then fully realized the flowers were for me. "Are those for me?"

He blushed. Chandler blushed!

And then he even stuttered. 

"Yes, yes… because… you… you are … you. Well, I just want to say thank you for being there." 

I felt warmth spreading through me. Chandler was such a sweet guy! He should really be a bit more self-confident. "I always will be, you know that. Now come in." 

We went inside, and Chandler leaned against the counter. His eyes followed me, while I was taking care of the flowers. Actually that made me a bit nervous. Nobody likes to be watched. I glanced at him, and noticed that he had changed his clothes. He was wearing chocolate brown suit, beige shirt, and a matching brown-and-beige tie. His five-o-clock shadow was gone, his hair was combed; he looked very good, I had to admit.

"You look very handsome tonight," I slowly said. "I take it you're better?" 

"Yes, Mon," he said. But somehow the tone of his voice said something else. He looked better, but he sounded just as desperate as he had before. 

"You look beautiful, Mon," he suddenly said.

Sweet but untrue – I hadn't put half as much effort in my clothes as he had. Still, nice that he said so. I shrugged, answered something meaningless, and turned back to the oven. 

I felt his eyes on me all the time while taking our dinner out of the oven, while placing everything on the table. Chandler made me nervous, I noticed. The way he kept staring at me made me very nervous. 

We smiled at each other, and then I gave him the bottle, as I served him dinner. 

I managed to lighten the mood, chatted and did not mention what had happened earlier. I could understand very well that no man would like to be reminded that a woman saw him cry. And Chandler was no exception, even though he usually was not exactly a tough "guy-guy". 

So I told him a few stories from work, funny things that had happened, and that made him relax a bit. He even told some funny stories himself, made a few of those sarcastic comments that everyone seemed to hate, but in fact I had missed them over the last few weeks. I was glad things seemed to turn out like that, glad I had invited him over. And I hoped he would come out of his dark place now. 

After dinner we moved to the couch, sat down there together, and as usual I leaned against him. I had missed that too. 

Suddenly he sighed.

I placed my hand on his stomach. "Still not ok, sweetie?" 

"I'll survive." 

And there was depressed Chandler again. 

"I really think you should tell me," I said. I continued, telling him that I wanted to help him, that I felt he needed help.

Suddenly Chandler turned very pale. He swallowed audibly. 

And then said something I would never have expected: "Believe me, Mon, you've already done enough." 

"What?" I moved away from him. What was that supposed to mean? Was it my fault that Chandler was miserable? How? Why?

"I said you already did enough," he said sharply, pronouncing every single word. I guess I just stared at him, since I didn't understand a word he was saying. But that quickly changed when he continued.

"Mon, I'm miserable because of you. You are my problem. I'm in love with you, Mon, and you… you …" 

He almost jumped off the couch, ran to the kitchen, turned around, and then said, very quietly: "And you don't want me." 

I didn't completely get what he just told me, all I knew was that Chandler had just told me that I was responsible for his misery. I? I of all people? I had tried to help him, for goodness sake! I followed him, determined not to let him get away with that, and without thinking about what I was doing, I asked: "What did you say?" 

"I said you don't want me." 

I don't know why those words made me lose it – but suddenly I found myself yelling at him. 

"Don't you dare! Don't you dare tell me that I'm responsible for your misery! I've been trying to help you for the last few weeks; I've been trying to find out what was wrong. And now I'm responsible for it? Forget it, Chandler Bing, I don't accept that. Go, leave now!" 

I regretted my words the moment I said them, but I couldn't stop. 

And then I saw the hurt in his eyes, something I would never forget – and felt more ashamed and sorry than ever before. But I couldn't take my words back, couldn't do anything when he turned around and left. 

I felt numb, stared at the door, and slowly his words made it to my mind. Chandler hadn't accused me of anything – he had told me that he was in love with me! And I had yelled at him. 

What on earth could I do to make that better? 

Why had I reacted like that?

Automatically I put all the dishes in the sink, put the remaining food in the fridge, mechanically fluffed the pillows on the couch. I had to do something, had to talk to Chandler. So I slowly and hesitantly opened my door, crossed the hallway, and entered his apartment. The living room was dark, all doors were closed. At first I thought nobody was there, but then I heard a soft noise from Chandler's bedroom. I forced myself to go to the door, to open the door. The room was only lit by the streetlights from outside, Chandler was lying on his bed, and he was sobbing. Hearing that, knowing that this time it was definitely my fault, made my heart ache. I felt so unbelievably guilty and at the same time sorry for him – and I didn't know what to do.

I sat down on his bed, softly and tentatively caressed his hair. He rolled on his side, but not towards me but to the other side. This completely broke my heart, I could hardly suppress my own tears. I swallowed hard. "Chandler, I'm sorry." I said, my voice trembling.

"Yeah, sorry, whatever." 

"Chandler, listen to me," I was still not sure what to tell him. "Chandler, honey, I had no idea." 

He didn't answer.

"Chandler, I'm sorry I yelled at you. I shouldn't have done that." 

"Well, that doesn't help," he was still crying.

"What do you expect me to do, Chandler?" It felt as if I was only babbling, saying something – *anything*. "I mean what you just told me – I had no idea. I have never imagined you could feel this way. You must at least give me some time." 

When he didn't answer, and I didn't know what else to say – because I didn't know what to do or how to react, I leaned down and kissed his temple. The least I could do was show him that I was not by any means mad at him and that I liked him a lot.

"Please give me some time, ok, Chandler? You're my best friend and I couldn't stand losing you." 

Hesitantly I stood up, waiting for a word from Chandler. Any word that would tell me we would be ok. But he didn't say anything – and who could blame him. When I had reached the door I looked back, wanted to say something – and then decided against it. I left, went back into my own apartment. Perhaps tomorrow, tomorrow we'd talk through all this, and then be friends again. But who was I kidding? Could we actually be friends again now that he told me he loved me? 

I went to bed, but couldn't sleep for a long time. All I was thinking about was Chandler. Chandler was in love with me, he wanted to be my boyfriend. So he had not been kidding, that weekend, he had been serious. And I hadn't even noticed.

I had even hurt him. 

And what would happen now?

We had to talk, I knew it. I would talk to him tomorrow. We had to find a solution. I couldn't lose my best friend. 

But the next day I didn't see him. He didn't come over for breakfast, and when around noon I pulled myself together, took all my courage, and went into his apartment there was only Joey, who was watching TV.

"Have you seen Chandler?" I asked.

"No."

"Is he here?"

"The door is open, and he's not in his bedroom so – no."

"Any idea where he is?"

"No."

I sighed. Thanks a lot for your help, Joe!

Shrugging, I left.

I didn't see Chandler all day long – and neither did I see him over the next days. It was as if the earth had swallowed him. 

According to Joey Chandler always left early for work and seemed to return late. Even Joey didn't see him, he only saw traces of Chandler – the open bedroom door, the unmade bed, dirty clothes lying on the bedroom-floor, wet towels in the bathroom. 

And I felt more and more guilty. Chandler had never acted like that. I must have hurt him really bad. 

Additionally I was confused; I was constantly thinking about what he had told me. And I had no idea what to do about it. 

How did I feel about him? 

I loved Chandler, sure, but only as a friend. 

But was that true? 

Did I consider him "boyfriend material"? 

Did I consider him a possible boyfriend for me? 

Or did I only think about that because I currently did not have a boyfriend and would *even* take Chandler, knowing that at least he was a nice, sweet, and handsome guy – actually the sweetest and nicest guy I knew? 

Or had this crush I used to have on him perhaps not vanished completely? 

I had no idea!

I desperately wanted to talk to someone, but the person I usually talked to in such a situation was – Chandler. 

I considered talking to Rachel, but she was still too busy with the "Ross-issue". I figured that she would either laugh or try to convince me that a relationship between friends would never work, based on her experience with Ross. So – no good idea. Phoebe – no, definitely no. She didn't seem to be too fond of Chandler anyway, she constantly put him down, and didn't seem to think that anyone could love him. 

Ross – no, another definite no. And Joey – well, Joey was a good guy, but not the right person to talk about relationships. And he might even tease Chandler if I told him anything. 

That left me with nobody to talk to.

And the only thing I knew was that I had to get Chandler back.

I felt worse every day. I didn't get much sleep anymore, because I constantly thought about it, and I couldn't forget the hurt look in Chandler's eyes. 

On Saturday he wasn't home either, according to Joey he was at work again. And I was beginning to lose hope. 

So on Sunday morning, when I was sure he couldn't escape to work, I went over to his and Joey's apartment. I had prepared breakfast for all of us, but I wasn't hungry. 

Joey was just coming out of the bathroom, and Chandler's bedroom door was closed. So – he might be in. My heart made a leap. 

"Hi Joe," I said. 

"Hi, Mon. What's going on?"

"Nothing, I was just wondering…"

"No breakfast?"

I grinned at the panic in his eyes. 

"No need to worry, Joe. Everything's ready."

"Thank God!"

"Joey, is Chandler here?"

He shrugged. "Don't know, guess so."

In that moment Chandler's door opened, and Chandler, dressed in pyjama-shorts and a t-shirt appeared. 

I stood there frozen, just stared at him. He looked bad, just as I had expected. But nevertheless I was so happy to see him. I had missed him so much.

In obvious unease he mumbled a good morning and immediately disappeared in the bathroom. I looked at Joey, Joey looked at me.

"So, guess I'll have breakfast now", Joey said, much to my surprise. After a second I laughed out loud. That was our Joey. Don't expect a sensitive comment from him. 

"What?" 

I smiled at him. "Nothing, just go."

"Are you coming?"

I shook my head, "No, I have to talk to Chandler."

Suddenly everything was clear to me. As strange and unbelievable as it sounds, the moment I had seen Chandler, I knew the answers to all my questions. I sat down in one of the recliners and waited for him. I would not leave before I had talked to him. As nervous as I was, I felt relieved, and I felt good. 

After what seemed like hours Chandler came out of the bathroom. I slowly turned the recliner, so that he could see me. 

He seemed shocked, embarrassed to see that I was still there. 

"Chandler!" I tried to sound very confident.

"Hm?" 

"Chandler, can we please talk?" So much for confidence. My voice sounded weak.

Chandler slowly nodded. "OK, but let me get dressed first, ok?" 

"Sure. But don't think I'll leave if you take too long. If I lose my patience, I might just come in." Why on earth had I said that? Could I sound more stupid? And why did I even think in Chandler-like ways right now?

"OK." He turned and went into his bedroom, leaving me feeling very nervous. I had hardly ever felt that nervous. To me everything was clear now – but would Chandler forgive me? Would he believe me? And what would happen then? 

And why did it take so long for him to get dressed? I bit my fingernails without even noticing. And I had to go to the bathroom, but I couldn't leave now. Did I mention that I was nervous?

Finally Chandler came back, his face showing the same emotions as mine probably did. He looked worn out, tired, and afraid. And I wanted to take him in my arms, to take all his fears – and my fears – away.

Cautiously he sat down in the other recliner without saying a word. Again, I needed all my courage, so I leaned closer, touched his leg. 

"Chandler, I'm so sorry for all the pain I caused you." I swallowed again, holding back the emotions. I had to finish what I had to tell him, and crying wouldn't help. 

"Chandler, it's just… I never thought that you wanted us to be more than friends." I stuttered, breathed hard. But I knew I had to tell him, and all of a sudden it wasn't difficult anymore. After all this was Chandler, my Chandler. So I continued. "And… and when you said that you'd be my boyfriend, I thought you were joking. Because I had never thought this would be an option. You know I had a crush on you, back when we first met. And those feelings... they never completely left." 

He didn't answer.

"Chandler, please be honest now, ok?" 

Nodding. Did he actually hear what I said?

"Chandler, when you said that you're in love with me, was that the truth?" 

I just had to know. 

He nodded again.

"Chandler, I … I told you that I needed some time… but I didn't say that because I was looking for a way to reject you. Only because this was so huge, and so unbelievable." 

Why didn't he say anything? 

"Man, you surely don't make it easier for me." 

I acted without thinking now, I slid down, knelt in front of his recliner, pulled him down to me. I put my arms around him and kissed him on his lips. His lips were soft, he felt amazing, but still he didn't move, didn't react. I broke the kiss.

"Chandler, will you please say something or do something! Anything! I… I'm trying to tell you that I want to try – us. When I said you weren't boyfriend material, I didn't say so because I thought you weren't good enough. I would never think you're not good enough. The only reason I couldn't imagine you to be my boyfriend is that I thought you wouldn't want it. You've been always afraid of a serious relationship. And… and I've been thinking a lot last week, about you – about us. And… I want us to try. Because … because I'm in love with you too." 

He had obviously not expected me to say that, and he was too surprised to answer, but suddenly a tear ran down his cheek. Automatically I brushed it away, smiled at him.

"So?"

"Yes," was his short answer. 

I almost fell into his arms, embraced him tight, kissed him again. And this time he did react. I felt his arms around me, pulling me really close, and I felt his lips answering my kiss. And if I hadn't been sure before, now I was sure. This was not just friendship, or pity – this was much more. I was in love with my best friend. This embrace felt so good, so natural, so right; and the kiss – the kiss was definitely the best kiss I have ever had. Soft and sweet and full of emotion.

And when this kiss ended, it felt like a huge loss. I leaned against him, enjoying the feeling of his arms around me.

"Mon," he said.

"Yes?"

"You know… I'm still afraid."

"I know."

"But… but now I'm more afraid to spend my life without you."

It seemed as if everything came together now – and nothing else mattered. And this was the best thing that ever happened to me. And I knew this would last forever.

"You don't have to, Chandler." 


End file.
